


Mac Davis

by ImaniJoain



Series: Unlikely Singularities [14]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, OC Evelyn Vivas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-01-27 08:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12577644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaniJoain/pseuds/ImaniJoain
Summary: While working to take down the new HYDRA and the Sunday drug ring, Bucky is injured. After a lifetime of unwanted medical procedures, he is understandably wary of doctors. Luckily, there is one doctor for whom he doesn't mind getting naked. Unluckily, HYDRA's latest attempts to combat super soldiers has left Bucky less in control of himself than he would prefer.  *Takes place 8/12/17 - 8/16/17





	1. Lord, It's Hard to Be Humble

**Author's Note:**

> It's snowing!!! First snow of the season, so I treated myself to posting this little snippet, even though I haven't yet given you the chapters that set the scene. Enjoy a loose lipped Winter Soldier now that's it feels like winter where I am.

**August 1** **2** **, 2017**

 

_They shouldn’t let him go._

Barnes could see that thought in the eyes of the medical staff, but no one moved to stop him. They’d had that argument before – and never won. He knew he was dripping blood from his numb fingers, so he grabbed his flesh arm with his metal one and forced it to wrap around his torso. Even his prosthetic seemed sluggish, although it couldn’t have been effected by the same tranquilizer that the rest of him was. His boots scraped along the floor, making unintentional noise that gave away his position and made him wince. The pain from the bullet still lodged in his hip he could ignore. The deep ache in his back from a six story fall he could compartmentalize. Superficial cuts and scrapes were nothing. Knowing he had been made so vulnerable that he was incapable of covert movement was far worse. Bucky Barnes had been trained as a sniper; silence and shadows were his friends. The Winter Soldier was _made_ of the same. Silence and shadows and death.

_Failure. Position untenable. Classify hostiles. Five. Six o’clock - threat level 3, medical personnel. Eight o’clock - threat level-_

Barnes had to shake his head to push back the urge to forcefully secure himself against potential foes. _Fuck HYDRA. Fuck Carson and fuck whoever cooked up this fucking drug._ Stark’s nurses and doctors weren’t his enemies. They wouldn’t experiment on him or force him in the Chair. They were not trained to inject him with sedatives and hallucinogens to subdue him. Not a single one was actually a danger to him. His thoughts were slow too. His brain a little hazy and difficult to focus. He needed to get somewhere secure. See to his wounds. Rest where he wouldn’t be a danger to anyone if he did lose control of himself. Barnes used his metal arm to brace himself against the wall next to the elevator and reached for the elevator call button. His hand was trembling so badly he missed.

“Allow me, Sergeant,” Friday said so softly only he would be able to hear. The light glowed to indicate the elevator was on its way.

Whatever HYDRA was using in their tranquilizers, they had been upgrading it since Steve was hit a few months ago. The dart had barely grazed Barnes’ neck, and he felt like he might collapse at any moment. Steve’s serum was better, but he had taken three full contacts and at least two more scratches before he was knocked out. The stuff had kept the punk out for hours and off duty for days. Unfortunately, Barnes figured Zola’s second-rate serum couldn’t burn through chemicals nearly as quickly as the Erksine original. He didn’t want to speculate on how long he would be out of commission and vulnerable. _Fucking HYDRA._

The medical staff behind him was dispersing, going on about the business of patching up Wilson and Steve. Barnes would never wish injury on his best friend, but if Steve hadn’t been unable to walk due to shrapnel through his leg he would have undoubtedly been badgering Barnes to let one of the doctors check his wounds. Not much could keep Steve down, so it was tactically advantageous for Barnes to retreat while he had the chance so that when Steve came to check on him later he would already be cleaned up and going back to medical would be pointless. Natalia was busy conferring with Stark on the shipments the team had discovered, and scheduling interrogation of the few enemies still alive to talk. _Go while the gettin’s good._ His brain sloshed around that for a moment, wondering where he had heard it and if he was applying it to his escape from medical or HYDRA’s continuing evasion of the Avengers.

“I have taken the liberty of having some supplies delivered for you, Sergeant,” Friday murmured as the quiet ping of the elevator announced its arrival, pulling him out of his own head. “They are waiting outside your apartment for you. Please let me know if-”

Barnes stumbled and practically fell into the elevator, fetching up against the rear wall and mumbling, “Close doors. Please.” The car was moving before he noticed there was anyone else there.

“Is the projectile still in your hip?”

_Evelyn._

He started, eyes snapping open. Familiar cinnamon and vague chocolatey sweetness lightly scented the air. The Winter Soldier rose close to the surface, reprimanding him for nearly falling asleep in the open.

_Vivas. Evelyn Gertrude. M.D. Obstetrics and Genetics Specialist. Surgical Training. Security Level Two. Defense Priority Two. Threat Level One._

At least the Soldier in him recognized that she was not an enemy. He grunted in response to her question and forced himself to catalog his surroundings to stay alert.

“It will have to come out.”

She held a tablet, but the screen was dark. Her whiskey-gold hair was pinned up, as it usually was, showing off the column of her throat and the almost imperceptible remnants of bruising at the base of her neck. She wore a silky shirt in light purple with a narrow belt around her waist, pinching in and showing off her figure and leaving nowhere to hide weapons. Cream colored slacks covered her legs, snug on her ass and hips. Ridiculously high heels, made of many thin braids of metallic leather, showed off toenails painted to match her shirt. She carried an over sized leather shoulder bag in the same gold and copper tones as her shoes.

_Resource – medical. Probability of cooperation – high. Physical damage requiring repairs. Cognitive impairment reduces defense capability._

Barnes pulled his eyes back to her face, frowning. He usually steered clear of doctors and scientists of every bent. They put him on edge and reminded him too much of his time with HYDRA. Stark and Foster were exceptions to the rule. The latter because her science was so far removed from anything he had experienced, the former because his grease stained t-shirts and loud music combined together with Barnes’ guilt to bypass the reaction. He had never before considered Evelyn as a doctor. Yes, she had a medical degree, he had even called her Doc in his head. But he had never seen her in a white coat or scrubs. Perhaps it was the way she dressed, or the knowledge that her kind of expertise was as far removed from hurt and death as possible. Or perhaps it was the memory of finding her outside the HYDRA base where she had been held. They way she had tried to assure him when she was the one bleeding and covered in dirt:

“ _It’s all gone. Destroyed. You don’t have to worry about it, Sergeant.”_

She shifted her weight, drawing his attention down. _Perhaps it is just that ass._ For whatever reason, he had never seen her as a threat, and even with the drug in his system slowly pulling him under and making the instincts of the Soldier more active, he still had no reservations about accepting her offer.

“Not in medical.”

Evelyn nodded, unperturbed. “I assume you have a rather extensive first aid kit in your apartment?” He grunted again, his eyes falling half-lidded. His jaw felt loose and he was overly aware of his own body. Friday took over for him, listing the supplies that had been delivered as well as what he kept on hand. Evelyn asked a few questions, running her eyes over him as she talked, assessing his injuries. She didn’t use her hands for expression, odd in comparison to Darcy who talked with her whole body. The Doc’s mouth moved a lot, though. Little twists and purses that might have been missed by someone less observant than him. Clenches of the jaw and flicks of her tongue against the inside of her cheeks and lips. All quickly stemmed or aborted as if to control her own reactions. She didn’t wear lipstick, but her full lower lip was pale raspberry and looked soft.

“-access to pertinent medical records?” She had been talking for a while, and she was waiting for a response. He tried to clear the cobwebs from his brain long enough to remember what she had said. Something about complications and any toxins he might have been exposed to. Healing rate. She wanted to know how fast she would have to work to remove the bullet.

“Granted.”

The elevator doors slid open and Vivas conferred with Friday as he pushed himself into the hallway. His apartment was just around the bend, not more than a hundred feet to his door, but he stopped twice to lean against the wall and let a wave of vertigo pass. She did not reach for him, just paused, waiting for him to continue moving. Or to pass out, he supposed. Then she would be able to call for someone to come help while he was unable to put up a fight. Friday had the door unlocked for him and he only had to push his weight against the lever for it to swing open. He was aware of it clicking shut as he stood in the entryway, thinking about the security sweep he always did once he got home but knowing there was no way he would be able to complete it in his current state.

“You will have to either lay down or assure me that you can remain standing still while I take out a bullet, Sergeant.”

“ _Net tablitsy_ ,” he muttered, then corrected himself hoarsely, “Standing.”

“Can you make it to your bathroom? Cleanup will be easier there.”

He was walking before she finished. Each step felt more like he was moving through a swamp, his boots heavier than they should be. Evelyn was talking to Friday, gathering things she would need and setting a notification for Steve that he had made it home and was being looked after. Barnes winced even as he sighed with relief. That would prevent another argument with the punk about staying in medical, but it was also likely to raise a few pointed comments about the Doc. Not that he hadn’t thought about it. He had. Especially since he had seen her dancing in the gym. And since then. After her abduction. When he had volunteered to guard her during her daily run he hadn’t imagined that the rhythmic sweep of her long braid or the tight bounce of her ass would be so distracting. She looked good in the leggings and pullover she wore for exercise. Damn good. But he missed her little shorts. Maybe once the bruises faded. Maybe once she felt safe again and…

_Maybe not._

He hit the partially closed bathroom door with enough weight that it rocketed into the wall and bounced back at him. Barnes managed to reach the sink, leaning his butt against the counter. He could feel the acidic burn of the bullet in his hip, but it was made hazy by the thick fog of the tranquilizer. He began working on the closure of his armor jacket, but the sensation in his fingers was far away. His metal hand responded to commands better, but it was slick and red and kept slipping on the buckles. He smelled cinnamon and buttery chocolate.

“May I help you with that, Sergeant?” Small hands, golden tan and soft and nimble, appeared in his line of sight, but did not touch him. _When did she come in?_ He nodded, distantly grateful that she had thought to ask first. His own arms fell uselessly to his sides while she worked. Evelyn spoke quietly, noting why it was important to assess the injuries, explaining the supplies she had brought with her. It was nothing he needed to know – didn’t already know, but it was soothing, and she asked permission every step of the way. To cut off his shirt so she could see the knife wounds on his shoulder. To remove his boots so she could get to his pants and the bullet hole. He only managed to grunt or nod - until she had his fly down and those slim fingers under his waistband.

“Call me James,” he managed to get out. It only seemed fair, since he thought of her as Evelyn. It was a lifetime ago, but he vaguely recalled having said the same to the last beautiful woman her put her hands in his trousers.

 

* _Net tablitsy:_ _no table._


	2. Perfect in Every Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know not everyone is a fan of OC pairings, but Bucky deserves someone. And this whole series started in my head with a scene between Vivas and Barnes. Enjoy.

**August 12, 2017**

In Evie’s professional opinion, Sergeant James Barnes looked like shit. It was a significant feat, given how objectively good-looking he was. But even a dimpled chin and bedroom eyes could be adversely affected by multiple injuries and what she had to guess must have been elephant tranquilizers. Or enough quaaludes to reenact the disco era.

She had already finished office hours for the day – _as if I had more than three patients_ – when Friday had informed her that medical might need additional assistance. Stark always kept one surgeon on call and plenty of support staff in the building but whatever the Avengers had been up to had apparently resulted in more than one patient. Evie didn’t mind helping out. It was a relief, actually. Her days had become very, very long since she had returned to the Tower. She had her research, of course, and Darcy and Ms. Potts, and the one regular patient that had stuck with her after her...absence. Initially she had filled much of her time with punishing exercise. It had the added benefit of making her too exhausted to think. Since the Sergeant had seen fit to take over her fitness regime, and apparently her personal security, she did feel physically better. Healthier. Her nightmares were slightly more frequent, but as a physician she could recognize that his way was better for her in the long term. It did, however, leave her with far more free time than she preferred. Far too much time to think.

So when Friday had suggested she head to medical, Evie could admit that she was eager to be of some use. When the elevator doors had opened and Sergeant Barnes stumbled in, she decided that he was more than enough of a project to fill her afternoon. Probably also her evening, given that he didn’t seem to even notice she was there. Her tablet vibrated and she glanced down to see that Friday had forwarded the medical brief, noting that Sergeant Barnes had been shot. _Among other things._ He really did look like shit.

Evie’s hand twitched, ready to offer comfort and support before the man fell down. She barely aborted the motion, instead shutting off her tablet screen and smoothing her features into calm professionalism. It never did any good for patients to see her less than in control.

She cleared her throat, but when that didn’t gain his attention she spoke softly.

“Is the projectile still in your hip?” His eyes opened, but he gave no other sign that he had been startled. Evie recalled the standard practices for dealing with individuals suffering from post-trauma stress or other psychological disorders. It was advised to keep movements slow and obvious, and never to touch unless given verbal confirmation. The irony wasn’t lost on her. He grunted, which she took for an affirmative, but she remained on the opposite side of the elevator. “It will have to come out.”

The rest of their ride was monosyllabic on his part while she did her best to assess his condition. His pupils were dilated – obviously pharmacological. In addition to the GSW on his left hip, there was a slash through the sleeve on his right bicep. The blood smear was difficult to see against the black jacket. His face was dirty and bruised along the jaw, and he carried himself deliberately – more so than normal. She guessed he had an injury to his back or shoulders as well. Friday highlighted a few sections of the mission report – transcribed action that indicated he definitely had a back injury. _After a six story fall, he was lucky he could still walk._ She held back a frown and clenched her jaw to keep her thoughts to herself. Evie understood that he had issues with doctors and exam tables, but he should have worked with medical to come up with a better solution that isolating himself and splashing rubbing alcohol on his wounds – or whatever the hell he did that he considered adequate care.

She had to ask twice, but he gave her access to his medical records and Friday immediately sent them to her tablet. Evie felt her stomach clench. Pepper had given her the bare bones of his situation, and others who lived in the Tower, for her own safety, and HYDRA had provided vague references that gave her an idea of what it had taken to turn him into their weapon. But his file was unbelievable. Or entirely too believable, given what she had seen and experienced in her own short time as a prisoner. Bile rose in the back of her throat and her chest hurt. Evie recognized the signs of a panic attack, she had experienced them first hand often enough in the past few weeks. It was an act of will to focus on action, on the present, and push her own fear and disgust away.

She stayed within arm’s reach as he slowly made his way down the hall. He did not ask for help, and she didn’t offer, but she was grateful he made it through the door himself. The man was lean, given his height and strength, but he still had to weigh well over two hundred pounds. She ordered him into his bathroom, skeptical that he would actually be able to stay standing while she pulled a bullet out of him. At least if he passed out there, the mess would be easy to clean up and he would already be close to a bed.

Evie gathered the box of medical supplies from the hallway and collected a few things from the kitchen as well. A dish for debris, clean towels, and a glass measuring cup. He had a surprising number of cooking utensils and high-quality pans.

“Friday,” she asked softly, knowing his hearing was better than normal but hoping he was too out of it to be listening, “would you please notify Captain Rogers that the Sergeant is receiving medical attention, and that I’ll update him after I’ve finished here?”

“Yes, of course Dr. Vivas.”

“Is there...” Evie hesitated. She didn’t think Sergeant Barnes was involved with anyone, but it wasn’t as if they had sat down for a heart to heart about their respective love lives. “Is there anyone else that should be notified, or anyone that might come to visit the Sergeant that I should be aware of?”

“Ms. Lewis is also on the Sergeant’s emergency contact list. I will update her. No one else has authorization to enter his residence, and he has no personal appointments on his calendar.”

“Thank you, Friday.” Evie glanced around the apartment, noting that it was austere, but clean. The doorway he had disappeared through was still open. “Are you able to monitor vital signs?”

“Yes, Dr. Vivas. In Sergeant Barnes’ residence I have the capacity and authorization to monitor breathing and visual signs of distress. The black bracelet on his right wrist also allows me to record heart rate and blood pressure.”

“Good.” Evie inquired about normal levels for the serum-enhanced soldier and gave Friday specific margins that she wanted notification for. By the time she stepped into the bathroom, she had her emotions well under control. Seeing him slumped against the white marble counter almost destroyed her calm. He was somewhere between sleep and opioid coma, and Evelyn was not prepared for how jarring it was for such an active, wary man to be almost insensate. Although she had done rotations in surgery and emergency care, she had never known any of those patients prior to treating them. She had known Barnes for months, and he had become a near constant companion since she returned to the tower. He had always put her in mind of a jungle cat: sleek and silent and lethal. Seeing him slowed and almost clumsy was disturbing. She busied herself setting out supplies and studying the bathroom while she struggled to regain some distance.

Like her own apartment, his was tastefully, if impersonally decorated. A five foot high wainscot of blue-veined marble slabs ran around the room, stretching to the ceiling in the walk-in shower. Evie took a closer look at the space. Her own apartment in the tower was luxurious, but Barnes’ was opulent. The shower was easily eight by eight and had a built-in bench along one wall, niches stocked with soaps and other products, and multiple shower heads. There was also a counter displaying oils and salts for the six foot long pedestal tub – _inside_ the shower enclosure. It was ridiculous. And an almost ideal location for concierge surgery.

She just needed to get his clothes off and remove the bullet, and then he would be able to sit down – assuming he hadn’t passed out by then – while she cleaned him off and stitched him up. He was struggling with the fastenings on his jacket, so she took over for him. He had a gun holster under the coat. She puzzled over that for a moment, since it would be impossible to reach unless he partially undressed and she had seen the guns he normally wore over his armor. She was a firm believer that you could never have too many pens on hand – maybe he felt the same way about weapons.

“I would like to take a blood sample, Sergeant, to make certain that you are metabolizing whatever is in your system? Would that be alright? I will test it in Dr. Banner’s lab and Friday can make certain it is destroyed when I’m done.” He held out his arm without any hesitation and she drew blood as quickly as possible, placing the vial carefully in her bag. Better than most people, she knew how dangerous that small amount of fluid could be.

“I am going to cut away one side of your shirt, where it is sticking to this laceration. Is that alright?” He only grunted in response, his eyelids heavy and his lips slightly parted. As she continued to talk him through her actions, Evie wondered in the back of her mind if he ever looked so relaxed without the aid of experimental drugs. Then she had to wonder what exactly was in his system that he could appear relaxed with a bullet lodged in his body.

She dropped the shirt on top of his stained jacket and then went to work on his boots. They fell to the floor with heavy thunks. He had a knife strapped to one calf and a small handgun to the other. She managed to keep her voice calm as she placed them on the counter, letting him know they were within reach. His socks peeled off revealing pale, narrow feet that looked oddly vulnerable compared to the rest of him. She worked his belt open, trying to maintain detachment as she removed another two knives. She tugged down his fly, barely repressing a wince for how it was going to pull at the bullet wound, but knowing her medical scissors were not made to cut through the armored material of his pants.

“Call me James,” he rasped out.

Evie paused and looked up at him from her place on the floor. The thin sliver of blue visible under his lids was so dark it nearly matched his lashes. She opened her mouth – to say what, she had no idea, but he continued in a low rumble.

“Don’t ‘member much about it, but seems like the kinda thing to do – when a gorgeous girl has her hands down my trousers. ‘S polite. Good manners.” Evie was trying to decide if she was more pleased that he thought she was _gorgeous_ , irritated that he called her a _girl_ , or concerned that the normally reticent Sergeant was _babbling_. He was extremely accommodating as well, moving when and how she said - far more so than she would have thought he would be for a medical exam. “Always should be nice to a girl with her fingers in my shorts. ‘m sure.”

“Try and keep that in mind while I have my fingers in _you_ ,” she managed. And she doubted he would keep up any compliments then. A bullet-ridden teenager in the ER had once called her every slur in two languages while she took care of him. Barnes surely could curse with wider variety. She eased the material of both pants and underwear gently over his hipbones and the neat hole an inch proximal to his right ilium crest. It was a clean wound, no debris that she could easily discern. He lifted his feet for her so she could free his ankles.

Completely naked and sluggishly bleeding from more than one place, Barnes – _James_ – said, “Not done that before. Lest not that I ‘member. You done that Doc? Wouldn’t complain – might want a drink first. If it would do anything for me.”

Evie could feel a blush starting to heat her cheeks. She hadn’t blushed since her residency when a trio that came into the hospital was rather inextricably stuck together with an unfortunate choice of lubricant. She reached for the wide kitchen towel laid out on the counter and had him hold it in place, covering him from mid-thigh to navel except for the bullet hole. She had performed thousands of exams on men and women, but kneeling before Sergeant James Barnes had her irritatingly remembering modesty. She handed him a small flashlight, directing it to shine where she wanted it. His metal hand held it perfectly even.

“This stuff is pretty good. Not good as whiskey - ‘cause I had to get shot to get it, but not bad. I’ve had worse. And never got patched up by a pretty doc – always the techs. They never talked to me, and none of ‘em had whiskey hair like you. Like the braid best. Bett’n the twisty thing. Tho this’s nice too. But...whiskey braid. Me’be could get drunk on that. Whiskey braid. Whis-key.”

Her cheeks was definitely on fire now, but aside from his fascination with alcohol - he kept repeating ‘whiskey’ with various inflections, James didn’t make any move to touch her or even look at her anywhere but her face. Although his free association had a definite sexual edge to it, he wasn’t physically aroused. _Apparently even super soldiers have their limits,_ she thought, then immediately chastised herself for taking a personal interest a patient’s virility. She pulled on sterile gloves with a snap and he ignored the sound and her careful probing and cleaning of his skin. His flesh looked like it had begun to close, so she had to make a small incision before she could probe for the bullet, and he acknowledged her commentary with a nod. He didn’t even flinch as she pressed the scalpel to his skin.

“Is this your first time? Have you been shot before, Sergeant?” Of course she knew he had, she had his medical file, and she doubted that HYDRA had any concerns over injuries to their _weapon_. But it was important to talk a patient through painful or frightening procedures to keep them calm. Not that he seemed to need calming.

“ _James_ , Doc, have’ta call me James.” She switched the knife for a pair of narrow forceps. The bullet had traveled at an angle, coming to rest up against the pelvis. He nodded to himself as she slowly began reaching for the projectile. “First time was...first time was...” She glanced up quickly to find him frowning down at her. “Rosalind Grace. Roselind? Rose? Redhead.” He sighed. “Real nice kisser. Didn’t put her fingers anywhere though.”

She could feel a strangled laugh working up her throat. “The first time you were _shot_ , James.” The tips of the forceps connected with the bullet and she easily gripped it, drawing it back out through the entrance.

“Oh. Been shot lots. Probably more. You wanna see, Doc? Gotta...gotta lot of shot – shots – shot places. None as nice as this.” Evie gave up trying to hold back and let a sharp, embarrassed laugh escape her. He sighed again as she dropped the bullet into the measuring cup on the counter and began rinsing the wound with antiseptic. “None as nice as you. Rosey was nice, nice legs, but not as nice as yours. You got great stems, Doc. And at the top? You got a great-”

“I think I’m done with this,” Evie interrupted before he could continue and say anything he would regret once the drugs wore off. Anything _more_ he would regret. “Do you think you can make it into the shower? I can help you wash off before I stitch up your arm and put a dressing on this hip.” He rose, the sudden movement sending a stream of blood trickling down his leg, and stumbled for the shower door. Evelyn barely got there ahead of him and opened it. He sort of fell in, catching himself against the expensive marble with one hand and nearly face-planting on the deep bench against the back wall. She couldn’t help but notice that what he had at the top of his legs was pretty great too. _Focus, Evie._

“Good. I’m good.” He sighed, his eyes dropping closed. “Good to be clean. Like to be clean. Never was. Before. So good now.” He continued mumbling while Evie twisted on the water for the handheld spray and made certain it was turned away from him. She eyed the wet floor tile and took off her heels. Her clothes were a lost cause. It was always a risk to wear white in her profession – but she hadn’t anticipated anything but paperwork in her day. Certainly she hadn’t dressed for minor surgery and showering drugged, sexy, super heroes. Particularly ones that had been sprayed with oil or some sort of thinned machine grease. She tucked her belt and shoes into her bag and removed her watch and earrings. He was still mumbling as she folded up the cuffs of her pants and closed the glass door behind her. There were several different bottles of shampoo and body wash. Evie hadn’t spent a lot of time in men’s showers, but it seemed a bit excessive.

“Sergeant, can I hand you some soap? Is there one you prefer?”

“Like yours,” he said, his eyes opening a fraction to stare at her. “Chocolatey. Can’t find any like that. What’s it?” He frowned, and for a moment his expression hardened. His mouth tensed and his jaw became firm and unyielding. “Physical damage repairs adequate. Cognitive impairment reduces defense capability. Medical resource proven reliable. _Zashchita_ _pecycp_.”

Evie froze, and belatedly wondered if the toxin in his system would have more dangerous side effects than just loose limbs and loose lips. His face was pale, even in the steam building up in the small space, but his gaze remained focused on her.

“Stay,” he ordered. “Assist.” Then his eyes rolled back a little and he slumped. Evie surged forward, stepping on one of his feet and shoving her knee against his thigh on the bench to keep him from sliding to the floor. The water soaked her left leg and spattered her shirt. “’S good. All good. Smell nice.” His eyes stayed closed but he relaxed again, his face smoothing out and his lips falling open just a bit. Evie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Okay. Okay. Let’s try and make this quick – alright? I’ll wash your hair for you if you are fine with that? Sergeant Barnes? James?” His flesh hand flapped against the bench, not getting more than a few inches off the surface. His metal hand reacted better, gesturing to the niche of soaps.

“Pick whatever,” he said tiredly. “All fine. Not as good as you.” He sighed again, his metal fingers coming to rest on her right hip. “Chocolately. Hm. Want cake. Stevie makes good cake.”

Evie snorted. She had never been afraid of Barnes. Afraid for him, perhaps, but his current inability to keep any thoughts inside his head reassured her that he had no interest in harming anyone. Certainly not her. Least of all himself. Unless he managed to get a hold of some sweets and choke on them in his inebriation. Washing him went quickly. It was like being in college all over again, working her evenings and weekends away as an orderly. His body is just another patient, she reminded herself, despite his frequent bursts of speech and the metal fingers cooling her skin through her damp clothes.

“James, can you stand up for me?” She asked after she had shut off the water and finished patting him dry. His metal hand closed around the edge of the bathtub and it squeaked in protest. She quickly grabbed his wrist. “How about you lean on me, okay? We’ll get you lying down in no time, and I can just stitch you up there.” She pulled his arm over her shoulders and with a tug he surged to his feet, only to put most of his weight on her and relax his cheek against her hair. Evie staggered, one foot sliding against the wet tile, but managed to get them both out of the shower and bathroom without falling. He collapsed on the bed, and she had to ease the covers out from under him.

He was docile while she stitched his arm and then taped a dressing to his hip. An antiseptic wipe on a few scratches and a quick comb through his hair was all she bothered with before lifting his feet onto the bed. Barnes had lapsed into silence and grunts again, so Evie merely pulled a sheet and light blanket over him before asking Friday to dim the lights. She picked up the bathroom and carried everything into the kitchen to be cleaned or disposed off. His blood sample she placed in the refrigerator until she would be able to get down to a lab. At the bottom of her bag was a pair of shorts and a tank top – most likely left from the last time she had used it, but they smelled clean so she changed out of her wet, bloodstained clothes and took a seat on his couch where she could keep an eye on the partially closed door to his bedroom.

“Friday,” she said quietly as she got out her tablet, “his chart noted that Captain Rogers had also been exposed to this type of tranquilizer.”

“Yes, Dr. Vivas. Although the Captain received a higher dosage.”

“How long was he out for?”

“The Captain was at home for his convalescence. May I confer with Ms. Lewis?” Evelyn agreed and it was only a few minutes before Friday continued. “Captain Rogers slept for twenty hours after the incident and was moderately incapacitated for an additional three days.”

Evelyn raised her brows. _That is a hell of a cocktail._ “Very well. Until the Captain or Darcy are able to come check in, I will remain here to monitor Ja- Sergeant Barnes. Please notify me if his vital signs drop.” Evelyn settled in to catch up on her reading, hoping that Barnes would recover in a shorter time. And that he wouldn’t mind her occupying his personal space. And that he wouldn’t remember burying his nose in her hair and telling her how good she smelled. Or any of the much, much more mortifying things he had said.

 

* _Zashchita_ _pecycp_ _: Protect_ _resource_ _._


	3. Tough to Look in the Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This came so easily - maybe every chapter should involve psychotropic drug influences?

**August 14, 2017**

 

Barnes was dreaming. Even in the dream, he knew that. He was sitting on an exam table and it was cold against his bare skin. One technician was looking him over for damage while another had his metal arm open and was testing relays. His hip ached, but he didn’t say anything because no one had told him to speak. That made him mad. He wasn’t a weapon, an _asset._ He could speak if he wanted to. He had escaped HYDRA. But when he opened his mouth nothing came out. The technician poked his wound with something and the guard at the door laughed.

“ _Mudak. Mertvyy mudak._ ”

Soft hands were on his chest, sliding across his skin and so, so gentle. He could smell cinnamon and a buttery, chocolatey something that was good.

“I am going to change your bandage now, James.”

There was a gun in his hands, and a helicopter coming. He needed to disable it. But the gun was too light. When he looked down at it, it was a wooden toy.

“Hey there, jerk.” Steve was standing over him, a little blurry. He was Big Steve, but he didn’t look worried – not like that first time. His expression was relaxed, and kind of mushy. Darcy had given him mush-face. Even as Barnes had the thought, Steve’s mouth split into a grin and he chuckled a little. “Yeah, she does that. It’s pretty great. You should try it sometime. When you’re not so loopy.”

Barnes wasn’t loopy, he was pretty sure. Stuff was just moving around a lot. And the room was dark. And cold. Like the narrow little closet-bedroom he had to himself in his folks’ apartment. The place he had shared with Steve wasn’t any better. Except when a girl came up. Girls were warm – especially in the dark. And they smelled nice too. Like chocolate. Especially the whiskey-braid ones.

Steve was full on laughing, his ears pink, and Barnes frowned and tried to tell him to shut it, but then he was on the training grounds. It was snowing. It was always snowing. And little Natalia was on the obstacle course, a group of girls watching her progress. She fell - the snapping of a bone loud in the snow. The white soaked pink. Too much, too much for a little girl. It spread and spread and spread until the whole field was stained. He could see the tears at the corners of her eyes, but she couldn’t cry – couldn’t let herself cry. He couldn’t let her. No matter how much she bled. No matter how much she hurt. He stared at her hard, willing the tears to go away. They froze on her face. Or on his face. Both. He was so cold.

“How about another blanket, James?” The voice was thick and rich like honey, but when he turned toward it, Darcy was standing next to him on the training grounds – white snowflakes collecting in her dark hair. She was pregnant. Too pregnant to be out in the cold. Far too pregnant to run the obstacle course. She couldn’t train like that. She would never graduate the Red Room if she didn’t pass the course. He didn’t remember her being so big.

“Has the brain to mouth filter disengaged yet? That was the best part when Steve got hit.” Barnes looked down at her stomach. Steve couldn’t get hit. He had a kid to take care of. He had Darcy. Barnes needed to get out of Siberia so he could pull Steve from the ice and find Darcy and keep them safe. Natalia ran past, as small as he had ever known her. Her little fingertips were blue-white from the cold and her breath made frost in the air.

“You should have held on tighter, _Soldat_. Let go again and they’ll take the other arm.” Darcy followed Natalia into the woods – she was so fast for a woman heavily pregnant. Barnes followed too, trying to catch up, to tell them to slow down. If they would just wait for a moment he would help them leave. Escape. They could come with him to get Steve and then everything would be okay.

“James. James, can you open your eyes?” He struggled. It was so nice and dark and warm where he was, but that honey voice was speaking. It was rude not to answer a lady – his mother had always said. Especially one who liked to get handsy, his da had always said. Then Seamus Barnes would wink, and get his arm smacked.

A huff of air, like a laugh swallowed down, blew cool against his forehead. Something soft tickled his cheek and he finally looked to see a whiskey-gold braid dangling in front of him and a full, pale raspberry lip. A beautiful woman, her hand on his metal wrist. He could feel the weight of her fingers, imagine the texture of her skin. He turned his palm and held her fast. He didn’t want to let go. He wanted to keep his arm. Her eyebrows furrowed and she pulled that lower lip into her mouth, making it wet with worry. Stevie was talking, saying something about Stark and his new arm. He didn’t care about that. It was his flesh arm, the only one that was still really his, that he wanted to keep. Natalia said they would take it, and she knew these things. Even when she was a little girl, she had known when the handlers were going to take something away. Like they took all that blood. And the warmth. And the little girls who never came back. He had to hold on.

“Alright, James.” Her fingers squeezed his. “I won’t let go either. And Capta- Steve. He is right here. He won’t let anyone take it.”

There was mud everywhere. It was in his hair and under his clothes. He could feel it seeping into his socks, squelching between his toes. It dried on his face and flaked away in itchy chunks that were only bearable compared to the slimy globs tangled in his hair. He laid still. Waiting. Holding his gun steady and out of the muck. A caravan drove by, splattering him where he lay at the side of the road, but he didn’t move. It was night and day and night again and the mud was so cold and something was crawling in it, crawling up his leg and there was the target. He just needed to fire so Dugan would know-

 _Crack_. A burst of light lit up the sky and another and another.

“Can you believe somebody comes up with all those colors?” Steve was lying on the roof next to him, skinnier than ever and still raspy from a sore throat. Mrs. Rogers had barely let him out of the house and Bucky had to promise to have him back as soon as the fireworks were done. The other boys were down on the street, running and yelling and setting off their own little firecrackers. Annoying the hell out of the neighborhood. But Stevie didn’t run so good, and it was nice on the roof. Easy to lie back and just take it all in. “Ma went down yesterday to see Mr. Goody about his swollen foot,” Steve said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I saved the chocolate he gave me to split with you.”

It smelled like home. Sweet and like a summer night filled with warmth and bright colors and his best friend right there safe and whole. It melted on his tongue – different than he remembered. Just as rich but with a bite of spice that was mysterious and exciting and familiar all at once. He was hungry for it.

Barnes opened his eyes, crusty at the corners with sleep, and stared for a moment at the ceiling. _My bedroom. Stark’s Tower._ The long shadows of early evening stretched across the cream colored paint. He breathed quietly, cataloging the sounds of his apartment and the state of his body. The dishwasher was working. The soft sound of water running through the pipes. Something warm was cooking. Spicy peppers and onion and garlic. Beef and chicken. His stomach cramped on emptiness. His hip was sore, his mouth dry, and his muscles stiff. He’d slept too long. The sound of turning pages caught his attention. _Someone is here_. But he didn’t even have time to tense as he remembered meeting Evelyn in the elevator. She had offered to take out the bullet. And then...then...Barnes frowned, struggling to pull memory out of dreams that seemed too vivid to not be real.

He was pretty sure he hadn’t showered with her. Even if he had been capable, he doubted the doc would have kissed a patient like he was remembering she had. Would have been nice, to have her naked and covered in soap bubbles. More than _nice_. But Dum Dum Dugan had definitely not made an appearance anywhere outside of his head. Had Natalia been there? He felt dirty too, covered with sweat and his hair was lank and oily. Was there mud in his pants? To set his mind at ease he checked under the fluffy duvet and sheet.

_Nope. Not wearing pants._

That realization was followed by a louder rumble of his stomach and the sound of feet hitting the floor in the living room.

_What. The Hell._

 

* _Mudak. Mertvyy mudak: Asshole. Dead Asshole._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way I have posted these stories out of chronological order is starting to confuse even me as I post more. To alleviate that, as suggested by sylvancat, I did add dates to the story descriptions. I have also posted this on my website in order, including some chapters/scenes that didn't make the final cut for AOE. Hopefully that will address some of the messages I have received regarding timeline. Thank you for continuing to read and I love reading comments!


	4. Better Lookin' Each Day

**August 15, 2017**

 

Evie heard a grumble coming from the bedroom and it took her a moment to place the sound. She was halfway to the door before she realized it must have been the Sergeant’s stomach. It was no surprise, really. He had been in and out of sleep for three days. Even when he was awake enough to let Captain Rogers help him to the bathroom or take a sip of water from the straw Darcy would hold for him he was still floating on a drug-induced magic carpet ride. Three days of dreams and nightmares and conversations about people she didn’t know – often in languages she didn’t recognize – and he hadn’t eaten anything at all. If he hadn’t woken by lunch time she had planned to start an IV.

The first time he had spoken in his sleep was just an hour after she had put him in bed. The Black Widow had stopped in to check on him.

“ _Dr. Vivas,” Friday said softly, “Ms. Romanoff is at the door requesting entry.”_

_Evie had to blink a few times to process that, but stood and moved for the door even as she wished she was wearing something more professional than old gym clothes without shoes. She tried to take control of the situation immediately._

“ _He has fallen asleep,” she said in a low voice as soon as she opened the door. “I would prefer to let him rest until he wakes on his own.”_

_Dressed in a fitted green t-shirt and brown skinny jeans, Natasha only raised a brow. “Doctor’s orders?”_

“ _Would you follow those?” A small part of Evie was reminding her that baiting the world’s deadliest spy might not be in her best interest. She contributed her ability to keep a calm demeanor to years of lying during confession._

_Natasha smirked. “Probably not. I’d like to look in on him.” She slipped into the apartment, but kept her volume quiet. “What is your opinion?”_

“ _I am aware of only Captain Rogers and Ms. Lewis having a medical information release for Sergeant Barnes.”_

“ _Not much of an opinion.”_

_Evie followed her into the living area. It wasn’t obvious, but the redhead was noting the little nest of throw blanket and reading material Evie had made on the couch. “It is all I can offer at this time, Ms. Romanoff. Captain Rogers or Ms. Lewis can make the decision if they choose to share additional information with you.”_

“ _Haven’t you already shared enough with me?”_

 _Evie could feel her breath speed up, her chest tighten. Natasha had debriefed her after her abduction by HYDRA._ Muscles clenching. Copper in her mouth. Look at the cell structure, Dr. Vivas. What do you think? Doctor, you will help us shape the future. Look-

_A groaning, snarling sound from the bedroom pulled her out of her own memory and Evie stalked past Natasha on shaking legs. James was still, except for his face. His eyes moved behind his lids, trapped in a dream, and his mouth turned down in a grimace. His guttural whisper was full of venom._

“ _Mudak. Mertvyy mudak.”_

_Whatever he was seeing, Evie couldn’t let him stay there. If he thrashed, he could irritate his wounds. And he had pulled her out of her own terrors more than once. This was the least she could do for him. She pressed her palm against his shoulder where the blanket had slipped down and smoothed her hands across his chest, trying to gently bring him out of the dream._

“ _Shhh. It’s alright. You are at home now. Sergeant Barnes. James.” He relaxed under her hands, but his mouth continued to move soundlessly._

“ _He believes himself in enemy hands,” Natasha said. Evie startled, not realizing she had been followed into the room. “He may become violent.”_

 _Evie leveled her gaze at the other woman. Natasha’s face was impassive, and it was everything Evie could do not to express herself more colorfully. This was_ her _patient, and she wasn’t going to be scared off just because he had been once forced to to bad things. She knew what he had done – what they had wanted her to do. What she might have...if not for… Evie turned her back on the spy._

“ _I am going to check your bandage now, James. You’re going to be fine.”_

Evie pushed the door the rest of the way open to see James sitting up in bed, his covers sliding down around his waist. She had seen his prosthetic attachment before, read the medical notes on it, so her eyes only skimmed over it, instead focusing on his right shoulder. The laceration there was only faintly visible. What would have taken the average person nearly two weeks to heal he had accomplished within two days. She had removed the stitches yesterday morning and her eyes couldn’t even make out a line where the half-inch deep gash had been.

“ _You’re sure he’ll be alright?” Captain Rogers looked worried, and Evie had to hold back a smile. The man had been exposed to the same HYDRA-made tranquilizers and come out fine, but as soon as he had been released from medical he had come to check on his friend. And then returned again the next day to sit in the bedroom and stare at his rising chest. Evie wouldn’t complain, regardless of how many times the Captain asked the same questions. Having a super soldier around came in handy when her two-hundred twenty pound patient needed help to the bathroom. There was no way she could have managed it on her own._

“ _He is recovering nicely, Captain Rogers. Thank you again for staying with him yesterday while I ran the blood tests.” Evie knelt next to the bed, pulling on a pair of surgical gloves._

“ _Not a problem, Dr. Vivas. Anything you need. If I can’t be here I’m sure Darcy will.” He winced. “She thinks he wouldn’t be in this condition if I hadn’t taken some risks. Have you...seen the film?”_

“ _I try not to armchair coach, Captain. But I am certain that both you and the Sergeant knew what you were doing,” she replied diplomatically, then changed the subject. “He is metabolizing the compound at the same rate that you did; unfortunately, he received a much more concentrated dose. He should come out of it in another day or so, although he may be left with a headache and some loss of sensation in his extremities for an additional forty-eight hours. I sent a list of other potential side effects to Darcy, to compare to what she may have noted while you were incapacitated. Has she had an opportunity to look it over?”_

“ _Um, yeah.” The back of the Captain’s neck turned pink enough that it was visible even in the deep shadows on the other side of the bed. Evie bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing and concentrated on angling the reading lamp to illuminate the stitches. “Ah, yes to the drowsiness and numbness, and the, ah, increased libido. No to the light sensitivity and euphoria – but she did say I was in a pretty good mood. I don’t remember much. And she didn’t notice anything off about my breathing or pulse.”_

“ _Very good. That helps me to know what to watch for, Captain.” After removing the butterfly bandages, she carefully snipped the knots at each end of the wound, then pulled the thread out. She wiped antibiotic ointment over the narrow pink line. It wasn’t often that Evie had cause to suture – and she hadn’t done anything but cesarean incisions since her residency – but she was proud of the subcuticular technique. Combined with his healing ability, James shouldn’t have any scarring at all._

_As she was stripping off her gloves and walking to the bathroom to wash, James stirred, his eyes blinking and squinting._

“ _Hey there, jerk.” Steve leaned over the bed, his relief obvious. Evie paused in the doorway in case James needed something._

“ _Big Steve,” he mumbled, his voice surprisingly light and happy. “What happ’n to Little Steve? He nev...never had that mush face. Mushy. Mushy-face. Darce give you that? Make you mushy?”_

_Steve laughed, his relief as obvious as his amusement. “Yeah, she does that. It’s pretty great.” He glanced over at Evie and winked. She raised her brows. It wouldn’t be right for her to laugh at a patient, but she could see the humor. Steve continued, “You should try it sometime. When you’re not so loopy.”_

“ _Not loopy. Come over here and say that again, ya, ya punk. ‘s just moving. Turn on some lights. Not enough heat in here. Worsen our place. ‘Cept when comp’ny. Compan-ee. Girls came up.”_

_Evie noticed how hard he was working to form sounds, as if he knew what he wanted to say, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. It was likely just a side effect of the depressants, but… She glanced at the Captain to see if he would confirm her suspicions, but he was far too busy holding back laughter at his friend._

_Barnes’ eyes were drooping, but he continued, “Girls smell nice. Like chocolate. Especially the whiskey-braid ones. Got any chocolate, Stevie? Or a whiskey-girl?” Rogers failed to contain himself, his guffaws loud in the quiet room. “Shut it, punk. You’s a mush face.”_

“Evelyn?” His voice was deeper and rougher than usual, unsurprising given how long he had been out. It snapped Evie into action.

“How are you feeling, James?” She winced as she said his name, wondering if he even remembered asking her to call him that. Wondering if she wanted him to remember. _Maybe that’s only for while my hands were in his trousers_ , she considered uneasily. She reached for the water carafe on his nightstand and poured him a glass, adding a straw in case he was having any issues with fine muscle control.

“Fine.” He sipped at the water and she waited. It took him over a minute to give in and realize she wasn’t going to accept that answer. “Sore.”

 _Still not good enough._ “Would that be a general muscle fatigue, or are you specifically referring to one of your injuries?” When he didn’t respond, but only flexed his chest and arm, Evie threw herself into professionalism. “I’ll take one last look then, just to make certain everything is healing properly.” She pulled a glove from the medical bag she had left in the room and flicked on the reading lamp. He remained perfectly still while she probed the flesh of his shoulder. There didn’t appear to be any tenderness, and the color was good.

Evie moved to fold back the blankets and he sprang into action, grabbing his bed linens with both hands and clutching them to his chest like an old maid. She raised one brow.

“Would you prefer someone else perform the follow up exam?”

He glared. His mouth opened. He snapped it shut. He glared more. Slowly, without breaking their staring contest, he rearranged the sheet, blanket, and duvet to uncover only a six inch by three inch rectangle of skin at his hip. The thickness of his covers made it nearly impossible for her to reach his wound from his right side.

_Darcy had stopped in to bring her lunch and offered to stay with James while Evie did a second blood test. The younger woman arranged an obnoxiously bright stuffed animal and collection of mylar balloons on the mantle of the bedroom fireplace while Evie finished the draw and removed the needle. The skin had healed by the time she pulled away the cotton ball._

“Ne vozvrashchay menya _._ _Can’t stand the cold.” The words were almost too quiet for her to hear._

 _Evie glanced at his face. James was pale, and a shiver passed through him._ _His eyes didn’t open but a furrow drew his brows together. She doubted his dreams were pleasant._

“ _How about another blanket, James?”_

“ _I’ll get it,” Darcy offered. She disappeared into the closet and came back out with a soft creamy yellow duvet. Evie helped her spread it out, smoothing the edge up over James’ chest. Darcy, always ready to lighten the mood, broke the tension, “Has the brain to mouth filter disengaged yet? That was the best part when Steve got hit. He told me all sorts of good stuff. Blackmail level material, I’m telling you. And not just about him. I know stuff about Jimmy here that would make Tony blush.” Darcy paused, adjusting the drapes unnecessarily. “Well, maybe not Tony. But Sam – fo sho.”_

_Despite Darcy’s waggling eyebrows and the obvious invitation to pry, Evie had managed to keep her growing curiosity about James to herself._

Evie walked around the bed and knelt on the mattress, studiously ignoring the stillness that fell over James as she scooted close enough to remove the bandage at his hip. His flesh hand held the blankets just under his collarbone, while the metal one lay across his lap – as if concerned she might try to rip his covering away.

“Do you remember giving permission for me to draw blood?” He tensed even further as she slowly worked at the edge of the medical tape.

“Maybe.”

It was both reassuring and irritating that he seemed to be back to his usual taciturn self.

“Hm. The samples were destroyed as soon as the tests were completed. You can verify that with Friday, of course. I did keep the results. They are encrypted and only you or Captain Rogers can access them, but I suggest you consider sharing them with Dr. Cho or perhaps Mr. Stark. The tranquilizers have been significantly improved between the exposure of the Captain and yourself. If you had received a higher dosage, the risks would have been significant.”

He didn’t say anything. Evie set the square of gauze aside and turned on her flashlight, holding it in her bare hand while she palpitated his skin. “This appears to be healing nicely.” It was remarkable, really. Even though she was aware of the properties of the serum, to see it in action was still astonishing. She hadn’t stitched the bullet wound, the preferred procedure for such a neat entry, and it had already begun to close. There was a hard scab at the center, and new red skin growing together from the edges. Three days from two point five inch deep cavity to a _scab_. It wasn’t surprising that so many had tried to replicate the serum. Disturbing, but not surprising.

“There may be some side effects. Would it be alright if I did a short exam? Non-invasive?” At his nod, she slid off the bed and moved to the end, quickly flipping the cover back to expose his feet before he could object. Evie forced her face into a calm, professional expression as she watched his calves flex at the sudden exposure to cool air. He had thick legs, heavily muscled for someone who moved with such agility.

“I would like to touch your feet.”

His mouth twisted into something she interpreted as a frown, but he nodded.

“The toxin you were exposed to has many similarities to quaaludes. Knowing the chemical composition and comparing your symptoms to what Captain Rogers described as his experience, I would anticipate some lingering numbness in your extremities. The muscle soreness is typical as well, and you should expect fatigue for several more days at least. I’m not your supervising physician, but I would advise against active duty for another week – or until Dr. Cho clears you.” She flexed his toes and applied pressure to the sole of his foot, then lightly ran her nails over his instep. He sucked in a breath and glared at her, yanking both feet away.

“Excellent. Your responses are still more sluggish than normal, but improved since yesterday.” She covered him back up and moved to stand at his side, holding out her hand and gesturing for his flesh arm. “If you feel-”

“How do you know?”

“Excuse me?” His eyes were narrowed on her, the blue pale and no longer dilated from drugs. Stubble had thickened and darkened into what would be a decent beard in another day or so. Despite concealing the dimple in his chin, it was quite attractive. _If you like that sort of thing._

“Normal response. How do you know?”

“Oh, hm, yes. Captain Rogers allowed me to examine him the first time he stopped by. He stated your reflexes are nearly, if not exactly, the same as his.” He held out his arm, and she performed the same tests, pressing her nails into the pads of his fingers and flexing his wrist.

“How many?” She looked up to find him still watching her. He cleared his throat, his scowl softening, and clarified, “How many times was he here?”

“ _James. James, can you open your eyes?”_

_Evie needed to check his pupils, and while the Captain was available it would be a good idea to have James use the facilities. It wasn’t that she had any opposition to more artificial means of assisting his bodily functions, but she didn’t want to think about how much damage James could do if he awoke suddenly to find himself jabbed with tubes._

“ _Few minutes,” he mumbled. “Go sleep, Beck.”_

“ _That’s his sister,” the Captain said in a tight voice. “Rebecca. He doesn’t talk about her much. She died while we were… In the eighties. She died.”_

_She could feel that tightness in her chest threatening. The shortness of breath and the horror. HYDRA did that. Took him away and everyone he knew died. James almost died. Was nearly crushed out by what they did to him. And they had wanted more. Greedy. Always. Stole a life and crushed it and wanted her to make more, to take more lives before they were even born, before they had a chance and she-_

_His metal arm slid out of the covers as he shifted in his sleep and the ridges rubbed against the thin material of her yoga pants, startling her out of a panic. To hide how her hand was shaking she flipped back the sheet quickly, letting cool air wash across his chest._

“ _Hey, Buck. I know you’re tired, but we’ll get you back to sleep real quick.” Rogers followed her example and pulled the blanket off his legs._

“ _James. I only need a few minutes. Open your eyes for me. Would you like some water?”_

“ _Nice. Sweet girl,” he mumbled. “Rude, punk. Ma says ‘s rude not to answer a lady.” His eyes blinked a few times, enough for her to shine a light in them and check his reactions._

“ _Go ahead and get his legs, Captain. Let’s see if he can sit up.” Evie tucked her light into the pocket on her sweatshirt and leaned forward to slide her arm under his shoulders. Rogers pushed James’ feet onto the floor and grabbed his right hand._

“ _Da says...Da...always answer the handsy ones. Handsy ladies. Handsy. Fingers in...in...”_

_Evie had to laugh. It was that or blush in front of Captain Rogers – which was just ridiculous. As long as she never said anything, neither man would ever know it was her James was talking about. They certainly wouldn’t know where he thought she should put her fingers. Her mouth was so close to his face that her breath blew his hair off his cheeks. She tensed and pulled, and between her and Rogers they got James sitting up on the edge of the bed, his eyes open wide but glassy. His metal hand turned suddenly in hers, gripping her wrist hard enough that she was sure it would leave a mark._

“ _Ow,” she couldn’t help but wince._

“ _Buck,” the Captain tried to pry the fingers off of her. “You have to let go. Ease up, pal.”_

“ _Don’t let them take my arm.” He was staring at her, those blue eyes deep and fearful – framed by dark lashes and purple bruises. Evie didn’t think he was seeing her._

“ _It’s okay, Bucky. It’s yours,” the Captain soothed. “Stark made it for you. Remember Tony? This arm is all yours.”_

 _If anything, his grip tightened. Evie imagined that the bones would rub together if he applied any more pressure._ _“_ Natal'ya znayet. _They took from her, too. No more, please.”_

“ _Hey.” Rogers gripped his flesh shoulder with one big hand, but James didn’t seem to notice._

“ _Not again. I won’t let go.” Whatever he was seeing, whatever he was remembering, Evie didn’t really want to know. She didn’t want to have that in her head, and he shouldn’t have had to relive it either._

“ _Alright, James.” She squeezed his fingers, doing her best to ignore the pain in her wrist. “I won’t let go either. And Capt- Steve. He is right here. He won’t let anyone take it.”_

“Every day. He came every day.” When his gaze didn’t get any less intense, Evie continued, “Today is Monday. You were shot on Friday.” She returned his arm to him, gently, and straightened. She was conscious of his eyes running over her. They stopped at her wrist, and far faster than his reflex tests had indicated he snatched up her elbow and pushed up her sleeve.

“What’s this?”

She could see it in the way his expression shuttered. His jaw tightened and his thumb carefully traced the blue and purple fingerprints on her skin. He felt guilty. Evie knew about guilt. And she knew this man already had more than his fair share, more than an entire Catholic family’s fair share, weighing him down.

She raised one eyebrow. “A little disappointing, actually. Usually, when I take a night shift I get a good story out of it – if not an actual war wound. I’ve had more exciting tussles with geriatric patients.”

He was quiet for a long minute, still holding her arm.

“Technically, I am a geriatric patient.”

“Hm. If you say so. I could order you a liquid diet then – instead of the molcajete in your kitchen?” Evie did not consider herself to be an expert in dealing with men – but some things really were universal. He sniffed appreciatively.

“I’m feeling much better.”

“I’ll bet.”

 

  

_*Ne vozvrashchay menya: Don’t put me back._

  _Natal'ya znayet_ _: Natalia knows._


	5. To Know Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for kattabaker - or her fault, depending on how you look at it - for requesting more. And just so you know I'm not twiddling my thumbs over here, I had to re-label some chapters with this addition, and the total now comes to 104 chapters for Unlikely Singularities. Because you all are so 'oh, I like these people' and making me feel good and just completely full of myself, I have written 499 pages of a fan fiction instead of working on my original stuff. I hope you're satisfied with yourselves.
> 
> This is why we can't have nice things.
> 
> Also, you may want to re-read Resuscitation, at least the first chapter, before moving forward with this.

_**August 15, 2017** _

 

 

Barnes steadied himself on the door frame of his closet, staring into the wide mirror over the bathroom sink. His shower had been quicker than he liked – not out of any sense of obligation to Evelyn, who he could hear moving around in the apartment, but because he had very nearly passed out under the hot water.

That was from the hunger, he was certain. He’d been hungry before. He’d been hungry and injured before; healing always seemed to burn through calories faster. He’d never been hungry and injured and bedridden. The combination had his head fuzzy and his muscles wavering between stiff and wanting to collapse. She had offered to help him wash - like he was some sort of invalid. _F_ _irst time I get Evelyn in the shower with me and it won’t be because I’m hurt._ He wouldn’t admit it to her, but he had spent eight of his nine minutes of washing sitting down so he didn’t fall down. Barnes didn’t consider himself egotistical, certainly not when compared to _before_ , but a man could only take so much humbling before a beautiful woman.

He reasoned he only had another five or six minutes until she would be knocking on his bedroom door, concerned. With one hand he grabbed a pair of sweats and an undershirt off the shelf and managed to yank them over damp skin without losing his grip on the door frame. He brushed his teeth – _God, that feels good_ – and ran a comb through his hair. Briefly, he considered trying to shave, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort when his stomach was seconds away from cannibalizing one of his kidneys and the entire apartment smelled like spicy meat and simmering sauce. _Not like she hasn’t seen me already like this,_ he thought while he rubbed at his jaw _, and she knows what I look like clean-shaven and_ \- he shook his head. It wasn’t a goddamned date. The woman had pulled a bullet out of him, for fuck’s sake. There wasn’t much after that to impress her with.

Not that he was trying to impress her. Not that he should. Or wanted to. Or-

_Get a fuckin’ grip,_ Barnes, he snarled at himself, pushing off the counter and striding out into the living area. The deep muscles between his femur and spine reminded him of the recent gunshot. His back and legs reminded him he hadn’t moved in three days. His head didn’t remind him of jack shit, just chose to sort of give up the ghost before he could actually make it to the kitchen counter. He managed to pull out and sit heavily in on one of the dining chairs, forestalling a quick trip to the floor.

_Fainting. Like a girl with the vapors. Like a green recruit at the first sight of blood. Like a goddamned-_

His eyes flew open when he smelled a faint chocolatey-spice that could only be Evelyn. He didn’t remember closing them, and was startled to find his face only inches from the table top. He sat up quickly and was rewarded with a sudden heat blooming behind his forehead and blurring of his vision.

“Moderate anemia,” Evelyn said calmly. “I added beef tips to the stew, and put a spinach smoothie in the fridge for later, but if you’re willing to take an iron supplement it will help you recover faster. Friday had some sent up; I left them on your kitchen counter. Take it with food, or milk.”

Barnes glared at her. He hadn’t asked her opinion, and certainly hadn’t wanted it. In addition to his head being too warm he could feel blood flushing the black of his neck. _Fucking blushing?_ He clenched his jaw and breathed deeply, trying to will away the lightheadedness. She was a doctor. She _did_ know his symptoms and how to make them better. She wasn’t trying to _order_ him – and it didn’t put his back up to have her offer suggestions the way she did. What made him mad, more at himself than her, was that he didn’t want her to see herself as a doctor. Not while she was with him. In his apartment. Placing a shallow bowl of something that looked like thick stew and smelled like heaven in front of him. His mouth started to water and he grabbed a fork.

“Might want to try a tortilla, first.” She slid a smaller plate, covered with foil, near his elbow. “See if that stays down with some liquid. And the molcajete is way to hot to eat right now.”

_The fuck it is_ , he thought savagely, but he snatched up a corn tortilla anyhow and shoved it in his mouth. Then nearly spit it back out. It was also too hot to eat. He chewed resolutely, refusing to say anything. He watched Evelyn move back into the kitchen, noting the pale green dress that flared slightly at her knees and the sedate beige cardigan she wore. _Work day. Four patients. No appointments. Research and records. Required interactions on low security levels: one_. _No scheduling indication of leaving the Tower._ At least his brain was still working as well as it ever did. He remembered all the details of her schedule and Tower security measures.

He shoved another tortilla in his mouth, remembering to blow on this one first and chewed more slowly, noticing the sharp brightness of the corn and the melted silkiness of a light brush of butter or oil. When she stepped past the kitchen island again, a glass of milk in one hand and water in the other, he took inventory of her shoes.

They were bold splotches of greens and blues with a narrow heel and wide straps around her ankles and across her toes. Her toenails were painted the same minty color as her dress. No stockings. Just long, golden calves. Barnes loved summer.

He sniffed. His stomach still joyfully pointed out the bowl in front of him. Something much lower and less insistent – for the moment – pointed out the layered traces of Evelyn’s perfume or body lotion or whatever made her smell the way she did all over his space. And under that his nose detected the unmistakable formaldehyde scent of nail polish. He wondered how much time she had spent in his apartment, to feel comfortable painting her toes there.

He liked the idea. And that pissed him off and brought him back around to her doctoring him and trying to make him eat the way she thought he should. He had already decided that no matter how nice her ass was – _it was really, really nice_ – or how her lower lip flushed darker when she exerted herself – _only when she ran or lifted weights but would it turn that color if she was breathing hard for other reasons_ – or how the corner of her mouth twitched and her honey eyes sparkled when she teased Stark with the straightest expression since Ben Bard – _rusty, Jesus, he hadn’t laughed so hard in_ – or how goddamn fierce she was – _takes on HYDRA and not a word of fear for herself_ \- he was not going to pursue her.

Barnes would make a fool of himself when she turned him down. With all that had happened to her, she probably wasn’t in a place to consider any sort of relationship. Or worse, she wouldn’t turn him down and it would be for pity or curiosity or self-therapy some shitty combination of all three. Or - and this might be the most awful scenario so therefore the most likely to happen to him, she would actually like him. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, much less someone like Evelyn.

But now that she had put herself into the role of physician with him, all of his previously well-crafted arguments curled up and died under his completely illogical disappointment. If she was his doctor, then she really shouldn’t be considering doing anything with him. Hell, she’d probably seen a lot more than just his ugly-ass shoulder and fucked up scars, given the way he was dressed – or not – when he woke up. It was one thing to tell himself he wasn’t going to take an opportunity, no matter how appealing. It was another to have that door closed for him.

She set down the drinks in front of him and turned again, and his traitorous eyes followed her ass all the way back to the kitchen. That green skirt hugged her curves just enough to be enticing and still classy.

There had been women that he noticed since he broke away from HYDRA. And one, _one_ , poorly thought-out attempt to help himself feel like a person again. Even after all of Sam’s therapy Barnes still looked back on an evening where a prostitute ended up crying, talking him through a panic attack, and buying him coffee as a particularly cringe-worthy low point. After Wakanda – and T’Challa had more beautiful women in his country than Howard Stark at a casting call – he had definitely _noticed_. But as an international fugitive, picking up a gal at a bar didn’t exactly fit into ‘low profile’. And the women he did know – all varying degrees and flavors of pretty, smart, and ferocious – were all out of the question.

Wanda: far too young. Far, far too young. And had obviously been dealing with a heartache/break situation and now in an undefinable _thing_. _Laura_ : married and possibly the scariest kind woman he had ever met. _Darcy_ : gorgeous. Gorgeous and funny and so fuckin’ reckless he would have a stroke or kill them both if he ever felt like she was his responsibility. _Pepper_ _Potts_ : that was like asking how a man felt about an elvish alien queen. Beautiful. Intimidating. Grace personified. Unattainable. Also, there was Stark. _Natalia_ : …

No. When he looked at her, he sometimes still saw a disorienting afterimage of a little girl with taped and bleeding feet and a stubborn glint in her eyes, refusing to admit fear. And a sleek woman with a gun in her hand and blood on her stomach from his bullet. His feelings for Natalia – Natasha – were complicated, but that mixture of professional respect, shared horror, and protective _almost_ paternal instincts were not conductive to anything but an objective acknowledgment of her attributes.

No. Since the table where Zola had strapped him down and pumped him full of hell, there hadn’t been anyone.

Evelyn set a heavy, three-legged dish made of black, porous stone in the center of the table. It was piled high with more of the stew and thick with a sauce that wafted into his brain and said – _this is it. This is all you need to be happy. This, and then you can die having lived the best there is._

“More tortillas? Those sitting alright with you?”

Barnes glanced at her face, waiting expectantly, cheeks flushed pink and stray hair curling around her ears and forehead from the steam. Then down at his plate, which was empty. He was pretty sure there had been a stack there before. He was still starving, and nothing seemed like it was going to come back up. He nodded.

“Good. Do you mind if I eat with you? I have an appointment early this afternoon, and I didn’t get breakfast.” She pulled a domed terra-cotta lid off of another plate that he didn’t remember her bringing over, revealing several dozen more of the sweet corn tortillas. While she levered several onto his plate and gave herself one, she continued to talk. “I believe Steve will be stopping by this afternoon. He has been anxious for you to wake up.”

“Punk’s a worrywort,” he muttered, watching her spoon a few strips of meat, some sauce, and slices of pepper onto a tortilla.

“Really? The Captain concerned for his POW, declared-dead, ignores-bullet-wounds-as-inconsequential life long friend? Shocking.” He snorted. She bit into her food, raspberry lips closing around it far more sensually than Barnes thought eating was supposed to be.

Then her words caught up to him. “You didn’t eat this morning?” He frowned. “You need more potassium, or those leg cramps are gonna come right back. And you’re still under weight. I can see your collarbones, for Christ’s sake.”

She raised one brow. “Thank you for the consult, doctor. Where did you get your medical degree, again?”

“The Great Depression,” he responded, heaping three times as much food on his own tortilla. “And don’t give me that crap Darcy’s always saying about women bein’ thinner then. We were all thinner – and it wasn’t a damn fashion statement. Eat more of these. Nothin’ on your schedule that can’t wait.”

“How would you know?”

But he ignored her question as God’s own manna filled his mouth. It was an explosion of flavors – so many he couldn’t place them all and everything melded together and ruining his taste buds for anything else. Not even Stevie made anything this good. He barely chewed, swallowing fast so he could take another bite. _Fuckin’...fuck_. Fuckin’ amazing is what it was. He must have said that aloud, because Evelyn murmured,

“Hunger is the best seasoning, I suppose.”

And suddenly he was transported back to a tiny table, crammed into the corner of a kitchen. Beck was sitting next to him, trying to steal the roll off his plate, and Da was grinning, waxing poetically about mashed potatoes.

 

“ _Hunger is the best seasoning.” A woman in a faded blue house dress and flour sack apron. Her hair was as red as a_ _polished Indian-head penny, her smile wry and teasing._

“ _Ack, no, Winnie, my love. It’s the cook, says I.” A good-looking, grinning man, his black hair slicked away from his face and a dimple in his chin, winked at Beck and James. He caught the woman’s fingers and pressed them to his mouth. “Seasoned with the fire of a fae woman.”_

“ _Oh! You go to hell for lying, Seamus Barnes, same as stealing,” and she swatted the man’s shoulder. But she was smiling._

 

Barnes blinked. He knew those faces. Rebecca - Beck, his sister. Seamus, his da. And Winnie. Winifred Barnes who had raised him and fed him and Steve and swatted them both on the ass more than once and who smelled like lilacs on Sundays.

“If you like it that much, I’ll put the rest away for you. It’s always better the second day.”

Evelyn was across from him, carefully biting into her food so as not to drip on her clothes. She had a speck of sauce at the corner of her mouth and one curl over her left ear that looked like a perfectly coiled spring. His plate was empty again, his stomach comfortable. His mouth tasted like spice and his lungs were full of the scents of exotic food and beautiful woman and nail polish.

And lilac. Because that was the perfume his mother wore to church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I am not afraid to admit that I got a little catch in my throat at the end here. If you didn't, you should have your heart strings checked. They might be missing.
> 
> Note: Do to the previously mentioned re-numbering, the second chapter of Epiphany comes in at #69. I got a little adolescent chuckle out of that.


End file.
